


what a pair we make

by meowrails



Series: we're going to start again [3]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Doctor Strange (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Codependency, Dubious Consent, Flashbacks, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Rutting, Sleep Deprivation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, it's brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-11-06 11:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11035716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowrails/pseuds/meowrails
Summary: Stephen and Wong adjust to married life and try to find a way to get the Sorcerer Supreme to eat again.Takes place solely in the comicsverse but posted in the movie tag so more people could see





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> chapter 2 is still a wip, and im working on my long fic as well as college stuff, so don't expect it to come too soon. 
> 
> takes place months after doctor strange (2015) #19 and sometimes during the secret empire run, but doesnt focus on the latter too much. 
> 
> also, wong calls stephen 'master' in flashbacks. it will be adressed in the next chapter tho
> 
> can be read alone but i reccomend reading the other fics in the series for emotional context.

Unsurprisingly, married life was no different from the usual days they spent together, at least that’s how Stephen felt. The only thing that was different was that New York had been surrounded in by darkness and terror, Captain America turned out to be a nazi, and Hydra still continued to linger through the powers of the country.

Stephen was so tired of humanity’s fuck-ups, tired at the fact that he was supposed to be protecting the cosmos and reality as a whole, yet he was still not powerful enough to do what he wanted to do. They had magic again, yes, thanks to his union with Wong, but it was just the bare minimum he needed for fighting these... pathetic jokes that called themselves his enemies, nazis and monsters alike.

He had been so busy that he constantly forgot that Wong and him are now wedded until he fell into his mattress, exhausted and miserable, only to find that Wong had been waiting for him with a book in his hand. Or had eventually succumbed to sleep while doing so.

Stephen would kiss his temple when he found him asleep, and rest right beside him, still awake.

He didn’t sleep, not anymore. Nightmare had not entered his dreams of exhaustion in a while, but the paranoia engulfs him at nighttime -- that the evil being will take advantage of his slumber and haunt his dream, mocking him over and over and over again, showing him images of his death, his Ankh ripped from his skull, his suffering, of Wong being hurt and dying all because of him and once again hurting the one he ---

“Stephen?” 

Wong voice came from beside him, a comforting hand placed on his shoulder. He was crying, or at least tears were falling from his eyes and staining his cheeks, no sobs or sounds escaping him.

He was so tired.

Stephen waved Wong’s hand away, quickly trying to wipe away the sign of tears that his husband clearly noticed. “Yes. Yes, what’s wrong?”

The usual stoic face that adorned Wong’s face seemed worried, but not that much. He was used to seeing him like this. 

“Nothing at the moment, except you.” He answered, placing a cup of herbal tea in front of him. It smelled delicious, he took a small sip. Thankfully enough, the return of magic and his supposed blessing by the Vishanti had allowed him to drink liquids that weren’t water, but everything else disintegrated in his mouth. 

Wong sat on the seat beside him on the kitchen island. This part of the house became comforting; he would watch Wong cook in front of him, or sharpen knives, occasionally giving him a soft smile.

When he saw it, he thought of nothing else -- it was a relief.

“If you don’t want to discuss it, it’s fine.” He continued, clear that Wong  _ wanted _ to discuss this. Stephen stubbornly kept quiet, head leaning against his hands.

Wong took a sip of his own tea. The only sound surrounding them was the clock  _ tick-tocking _ away, a maddening pattern, and the sound of his own breathing. He couldn’t stand it.

He clenched his teeth, the trembling hands pressed against his face now pulling at his hair. Stephen Strange, the sorcerer supreme, was verge of a full-blown panic attack.

He needed to do  _ something _ . Something to distract myself and stop this, stop his hands from shaking  _ this  _ much. Fuck, he shouldn’t have stopped wearing his gloves.

“Stephen?” Wong asked again, voice still smooth and soothing. If not the slightest bit of concerned. 

He asked something else, something Stephen couldn’t hear. But he was too busy getting on his knees between Wong’s legs, his trembling hands trying to lower the front of Wong’s trousers. If he knew anything, is that he didn’t think as much with a cock in his mouth. Fuck, he needed this. 

“Stay still,” He muttered and ran the tip of his tongue over the slit -- the pre-cum tasted like bliss. Wong bucked his hips.

“Stephen, what are you --  _ oh _ ,” His husband gasped, hands flinging to hold his shoulders. “St-Stephen.”

He wasn’t listening at all, just swallowing Wong cock with one swift movement, his tongue circling around the head of his cock. He looked up, eyes fluttering and pretending to seem confident, knowing, watching intently as Wong whimpered and tightened his hold on his shoulders. “Stephen, I don’t --  _ Please _ .”

Stephen didn’t know what the hell the guy wanted to say. Instead, he started to bob his lips up and down on Wong’s shaft, moaning at he did so. 

“Stephen, no. Oh--!”

He expected Wong to cum down his throat, trembling and wanton, begging for the two of them to take this to their bedroom and consummate their affections once more.

Instead, he felt a kick to his chest push him away and knock him to the ground, certainly forming a bruise tomorrow. When he looked up, still panting, Wong was desperately trying to cover himself and put his cock back in his trousers, face both shocked and furious. 

_ Shit. Shit. Shit. _

“Wong, I--”

Stephen stayed on the floor, refusing to look at Wong. His husband loomed over him for a moment, quiet and still looking distressed. He glanced up, and could see his cheeks were red from what he’d done. It earned him a glare. 

A foot pressed against his chest to keep him in place. In any other case, Stephen would enjoy being in this position, pinned down and at his lover’s mercy, but now he was terrified. Not of Wong, but of himself. Vishanti help him, what had he done?

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

Stephen fell silent.

“Answer me.” There was no  _ please _ after his command. He felt tears prickle his eyes again, threatening to fall. 

“Three weeks.”

“I can’t let you do this any longer. You are exhausted, body and soul. It’s hurting you more than you think.”

He waved a hand dismissively and started to stand up, pushing the man’s leg away. “Wong, I’m fine.”

“But I am  _ not _ !”

Wong’s resonant yell that echoed through the kitchen was probably the worst of all. He heard a fist meet the kitchen counter, an exhalation of a deep breath. He could see the man’s ring  _ clink _ against the marble. “Every night, you come home in the brink of dawn and lay in bed to wait for the instant it becomes morning. You can’t eat, you can’t sleep, you are constantly sick to your stomach and in so much pain, and I have to see you suffer with it  _ every day _ . I was raised to protect the Sorcerer Supreme, to protect my husband, but I cannot do that if you are constantly practically  _ trying _ to die.”

Stephen moved forward. “I have my reasons for doing that, you have  _ no _ idea what I just had to deal with, what New York had to deal with.”

“I live here too, Stephen. In this city, in this planet -- what you went through gives you no right to  _ assault _ me.” He gripped the kitchen counter, hard. 

The sorcerer reached out to press a hand to Wong’s cheek, hoping he could find a way to apologize. Make them forget about this and move on like they have dozens of times before. The tips of his fingertips touched Wong’s soft, olive skin, but his hand was knocked away and pushed to his chest. His hand ached in Wong’s grasp but all he could do was watch with wide eyes. 

He ended up with an extremely sharp knife pressed against his chest, making him keep his distance, the tip of it pushing ever so gently on his clothes. 

Wong spoke through his teeth. “Get  _ away _ from me.”

In the background, the grandfather clock continued to tick and tock -- the only sound echoing across the cracked Sanctum walls. Wong pushed the knife deeped, threatening to cut, and Stephen gulped. He hasn’t seen this look on Wong’s face since Imei passed away, since Sara was never to be found again. 

What a pair they make.

Stephen took a step back. He knew Wong wouldn’t actually hurt him, but he needed to defuse this situation. “I just thought--”

Before he could finish, Wong placed the knife back in its drawer, his eyes still intently looking at his husband. “I don’t want to hear it.”

He left. Stephen thought he would have gone to some other part of the Sanctum, but Wong put on his shoes and went out the door to Vishanti knew where.

He fell to the floor, head against the ground and held in his arms. It seemed like the panic attack he had tried to keep at bay as coming back. His hands were shaking, breath going far too quickly, tears once again streaming down his face except this time he was sobbing, weeping. The sort of crying he hasn’t allowed himself to do in a very long time.

Panic and misery came over him like a creeping shadow, engulfing him completely.

The last thing he thought before passing out was: “ _ I deserve this. I deserve this. I deserve this.” _

 

\---

 

_ When the Ancient One died, Kamar-Taj was chaos.  _

_ Mordo was on the run and lose throughout the universe, Dormammu had appeared for the first time in centuries, and the new Sorcerer Supreme was a foreigner with broken hands.  _

_ Before the Sanctum Sanctorum, they lived in a cold shack in the middle of the Himalayas. Stephen had never been on the run before, in hiding. Apparently becoming the next Sorcerer Supreme cause a big fuss all around the multiverse, everyone knew. This shack was to be used only in the event that they would have to go lay low, enchanted beyond belief by the Ancient One. _

_ Unfortunately, Kamar-Taj apparently couldn’t afford heating, or furniture. Or a nicer location. _

_ Stephen remembered sitting in the middle of the room. There were only two, one that was being used as a bathroom and another that was for sleeping, eating and trying to pretend that his former master wasn’t dead. _

_ Wong would sit in the corner, next to their gas stove that never ran out of power and the box of vegetables and pitcher of water that never seemed to end. Chopsticks in hand, he would stir the stew idly for hours. _

_ He never spoke. _

_ The dead of night came quickly, yet neither of them were asleep, and Stephen rose his voice to ask a question. _

_ “Do you miss him?” _

_ Wong had his back facing him, laying right beside him on their cot, and didn’t answer. _

_ “I can’t imagine what it must be like to... lose someone like that. I was fond of him, he spoke to me as if he was my father, a distant one but nevertheless... I know you were closer to him and I just want to say that I’m... here. If you need to talk.” _

_ “I will always be beside you from now on, it is what I was raised to do. Worry not about me.” Wong replied, speaking for the first time in days. He’d almost forgotten the sound of his voice. “I am expendable.” _

_ “Don’t say things like that. I care about you, you’re my friend and my.... servant, I suppose. It will be be weird to get used to, now that I think about it.” _

_ He huddled into his sheets, trying desperately to get some more warmth. They already were surrounded by thick furs and three separate blankets, but in the Himalayan weather, it felt like nothing. _

_ “He’s in the astral plane, watching over us. Have faith, my friend, we will be fine.” _

_ Stephen wasn’t sure if he believe that, but saying it aloud helped.  _

_ He missed home. Missed New York and it’s sleepless nights, missed all the people. He didn’t understand why the Sorcerer Supreme had to be hidden off in the middle of nowhere. He was the strongest sorcerer in the universe right now, why not go to the ones who need help instead of waiting for people to come to him? _

_ Not to mention that he’s missed all the movies that had come out that year. All the people in the village nearby were talking about that Butch Cassidy movie. Also, he’d missed the moon landing. Stephen is pretty sure he’s the only American who didn’t see it. _

_ “Master,” Wong spoke up again. It was the first time he’d been called that. Stephen wasn’t sure how he felt about it, but said nothing. “I... do miss him, yes.” _

_ “You know what I noticed?” _

_ Wong seemed a bit put off by the change in subject. “What?” _

_ “Now that I’m Sorcerer Supreme, your cooking doesn’t taste like shit.” _

_ For the first time since The Ancient One’s death, he heard Wong laugh. _

 

\---

 

This time, he was the one who waited in their bedroom, hands threaded in his lap as he tried again and again to meditate and failed. Stephen couldn’t concentrate properly anymore, and that was dangerous when one was a sorcerer, especially the Sorcerer Supreme. The large clock that hung on the wall still the only sound that filled the room, a resonating  _ tic-toc _ - _ tic-toc _ that made him think he was going to go insane.

That is, if he wasn’t already.

Wong came to their room late. Whether he was tending to the needs of the Sanctum or wandering through the streets of New York in need of fresh air, he did not know. But he stood there, expression stoic and guarded once he noticed Stephen was waiting for him on the bed with an assortment of objects in front of him.

A piece of cloth. A gag. A whip. A pair of handcuffs.

Without a word, Wong walked over to stand in front of the matress, looking down at his husband with a face he could not read. 

Stephen, nude and cold despite the enchantment they added again to never have to worry about the temperature, lowered his head. He tried to speak but no sound came from his mouth. He would so often try to have the final word, but it wasn’t worth it. This wasn’t the time, especially after what he had done earlier today.

Wong broke the silence, voice low and strained. “What is this, Stephen?”

He gulped, “this is an... apology.”

“For me or for yourself?”

Stephen fell silent again. Wong simply continued his interrogation. “Why are you doing this?”

“I wanted a way to just... escape and think about something else. I-I thought you would like it.”

“You are Sorcerer Supreme. You have spoken to Eternity and beaten Death itself, traveled through the farthest reaches of the cosmos and vowed to protect this dimension and its life and beauty, yet you cannot handle your emotions like an adult.” 

Wong tossed the toys to the side until the flung against the wall of their room. “I am not going to  _ punish  _ you like this because you think you deserve it, as if flogging you would make this any better.”

Stephen brought his trembling hands to his face and sobbed. “I’m sorry. I-I just thought--”

“No. You aren’t thinking, Stephen, and it worries me. You think you deserve all this pain and suffering when you don’t, not at all. It hurts that you can’t realize this.”

Without realizing, his arms reached out for Wong, pulling him closer so he could rest his head against his chest pleadingly. Still sobbing, tears were streaming down his face. “Please don’t leave me.” 

“I never said--”

“Please don’t leave me. I don’t have anyone else, you’re the only one.  _ Please. _ ” Stephen held onto Wong’s clothes, pulling it down as he rested his head on the mattress. Stephen Strange didn’t beg, he didn’t weep openly like this -- but he was not really himself anymore, is he? Stephen felt like a pathetic copy who he once was, unable to help and protect. Unable to cope or think. “Wong, I need you. I  _ need _ you.”

“I am not leaving you Stephen. I never said that.” 

Gentle, softer hands leaned down to pull his own away, shaking and covered in sweat. Stephen managed to compose himself for a moment, looking up at his husband with eyes that were surrounded in dark circles and red with exhaustion and his tears. 

“Lay down on the bed.” Wong spoke with a patient voice, soft as silk and he did as told immediately. He watched as the man took off his own clothes to match, completely nude as well, and rested beside him.

A hand fell to rest on his hip. Stephen tensed, expecting Wong to take advantage of the situation and fuck him senseless to teach him a lesson. He’d allow it. No matter how much it hurt, he’d allow it.

“Sleep. You need it.” Wong stated simply. He rested his head on Stephen’s chest, body hair tickling the man’s cheeks. 

Stephen yawned and now realized that his eyes were falling shut by themselves. After the stress of the morning, he hadn’t been able to meditate or cast any charms on himself that could get rid of his exhaustion instantly, making him seem like a functional human. Thanks to The Ankh, he could no longer die from things as mundane to a sorcerer as starvation or sleep deprivation, but its effects did not go unnoticed. 

“But, Nightmare--”

“If he comes, or anyone does, I am right beside you. Please, it is all I ask.” Wong pleaded, face still resting on his chest. 

Ultimately, Stephen succumbed to sleep. The quiet in his head, no evil entities threatening to come out from the shadows to attack, felt heartbreakingly unfamiliar. After so much time, sleep felt like something new, something beautiful. The entire time, Wong was holding him, there to save him if he ever drowned.

The following morning, Wong walked off bed to fetch the two some breakfast. Stephen slept on until midday, happily awoken to the smell of tea.

 

\---

 

_ He’d forgotten what it was like to be covered in cuts and scars, tainted with blood all adorning his chest. He hadn’t felt this weak and in pain since his accident. Stephen had tried his hardest to forget the pain he felt after his car crash, the broken bones and his shattered hands, but it haunted his every waking moment. It was what lead him to getting hurt again, in a sense. _

_ When he awoke, he felt a cold, moist towel rub at his chest. He must’ve fallen unconscious. _

_ “It’s me, Master.” Wong said in a calming voice. The blood had been cleaned from his body, thankfully enough, leaving him covered in bandages and bruises.  _

_ Stephen groaned and sat up. “Thank you, my friend. How long was I out?” _

_ “Five hours, but I brought you back to the Sanctum in time. The threat is subdued, no need to worry about it now.”  _

_ Had Wong carried him back to their home? Possibly with help from his Cloak of Levitation, but still.  _

_ He smiled fondly and patted his shoulder. “What would I do without you?” _

_ Wong didn’t answer but he could clearly see an upwards curve in the man’s lips. A hand pressed to his skin again, this time without the towel but glowing instead -- a soft yellow glow emanating from his fingertips -- Wong’s hands were delicate and slender, he noticed. At the touch, his wounds began to heal and his scars began to fade. The pain in his body began to lessen. He groaned in relief, closing his eyes. _

_ “Mm, that’s perfect. Thank you.” Stephen chuckled to himself for a moment. “Leave one scar, I’d like to save it.” _

_ “As you wish.” _

_ Wong ignored a single scar on his chest, the one that had been bleeding most of all, leaving it still covered in with slowly forming new skin and scabs. “I thought having The Ankh prevented me from getting hurt like this.” _

_ His friend pursed his lips. “The Ankh does not protect you from pain, only death.”  _

_ “The Ancient One told me I could live on for at least 600 years, maybe more. Am I immortal?” _

_ Wong continued to wash the blood from his body, this time focusing on cleaning his hands. Stephen held them in place, as still as he could. They were larger than Wong’s, so much more scarred and calloused and ugly. “In a sense. As long as you are not killed, you do not die.”  _

_ Stephen gave a weak chuckle. “Great, I’m gonna be forty-seven forever. I should have joined Kamar-Taj and become Sorcerer Supreme when I was still hip and fresh.” He turned to his friend, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion. “How come you don’t age either?” _

_ “I am indebted to the Sorcerer Supreme, I was raised with our souls unknowingly intertwined. I die when you die, the instant I finish your burial ritual. I will disappear and my ashes will mix with your remains, and that will be the last of me.” _

_ Wong said it so casually, as if he’d accepted this fate a lot time ago. Stephen wrapped his arm around his friend’s shoulder, pulling him close and what was almost a hug. Wong seemed startled, eyes wide and the healing spell faded from his fingertips. _

_ “Well, looks like you’re stuck with me for a while, my friend. Because Stephen Strange ain’t dying anytime soon.” _

_ He swore he almost saw a tinge of pink form over Wong’s cheeks. The man gave him a nervous laugh, “I can only pray that’s true.” _

_ The door opened beside them. The Faltian in violet, smiling brightly at the sight of her loved one, came rushing to him. She fell on top of his figure, laughing in relief that everything had turned out okay.  _

_ Wong pulled away from his hug and started to retrieve his belongings. With a slight nod at her, he left without another word. _

_ Stephen and Clea did not notice the click of the door as it closed, the footsteps walking down the empty hallway, as they were too busy focusing on each other’s body and soul, impossibly close, until their panting bodies fell asleep satisfied and intertwined. The sorcerer and his disciple stayed in their room, caring not of the world that surrounded them for once, their hearts burning with love. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Like The Lovers laid to the side, not upright or reverse, but about to move at any moment. You love him, Stephen, but nothing lasts forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2, i hope yall enjoy how pretentious it is.
> 
> (Im actually pretty proud of it, tho)
> 
> There is one line taken from [this quote](http://gaytaako.tumblr.com/post/163927197045/its-not-enough-to-say-the-heart-wants-what-it) that took my breath away.
> 
> Comments are kudos are appreciated!!

Wong was dead set on getting him to eat again.

With the Emperikul’s attack and the destruction of so many magical texts, any sort of spell or method that might bring back his taste and stomach back to normal seemed unimaginable. In order to do so he would have to grow a new stomach, or steal one, and both those processes were either too intricate for the current state of sorcerer or involved black magic. Even if he had resisted the temptation of using it before, he didn’t want to risk dabbling in it again just for the sake of being able to eat pizza one more time.

Wong, however, continued to read through the scattered pages Zelma had put together or any texts he could find hidden in the deepest depths of their home. Stephen sat beside him in the tattered library, trying to meditate instead. Wong had advised that he should do it as often as possible and try to regain his former headspace. To think about the universe, and the cosmos, and the lives that reside in them. He wanted Stephen to see beauty in the world again, but it was so difficult after seeing his city trapped in the clutches of the dark, after seeing a being of pure misery take his husband and do as he pleased with him, black tendrils escaping from his skin and threatening his very existence.

It was hard to see beauty in anything when it had been stripped from his person, but he was trying. For him, only for him.

Wong sighed beside him and shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing that can help.”

Stephen opened one eye as he spoke. “Told you, it’s useless. Don’t worry too much about it.”

“Of course I worry about it, you haven’t eaten a proper meal in so long. I don’t mind making the food you need but... it is killing you. And I’m helping it.”

Wong was so determined this morning to find a cure. After Stephen had finally gotten a good night’s sleep and actually had tea, his husband’s spirits lifted tenfold. He had to admit it made him a bit more optimistic as well, even if he was a realist. 

The man’s guard were lowered when he was around Stephen, he would show more emotions, even if they were usually so hard to read. Right now, Wong looked frustrated with himself. Defeated, as if any of this were his fault.

He scooted over and took Wong’s head in his trembling hand and rested it against his shoulder, holding him. “I brought it all on myself. All this magic was gonna take something away from me someday -- the Ancient One told me, you told me,  _ she  _ told me... I just never listen, do I?”

Wong huffed. “No, you do not. But... I still thought I could do something about it. Your health has always been my responsibility, never yours, seeing as you ignore it so constantly.”

“Guess I just got used to you coddling me.” Stephen shrugged. “... I  _ am _ almost ninety, after all, in chronological time at least.”

That made Wong chuckle. It was so easy to forget that they were both born so long ago, in different times with different expectations for each other. Stephen hates thinking about the past... about the way he used to act towards Wong. He didn’t change fast enough.

There amount of lifetimes he would need to properly make up for his actions would be infinite, but Wong had a supernatural patience. He wondered if it came with the job, it he was trained for it.

His husband stood up and held out his hand. “Why don’t I coddle you some more and make us something to eat?”

“Disgusting eyeball and intestine soup? Don’t mind if I do.” Stephen took his hand and followed him to the kitchen, their arms intertwined just as he would hold Clea long ago, when they walked down the streets of the city. He wouldn’t mind walking outside with Wong this way, but back then he was feared and respected by the citizens of New York. Now, he is taken as a joke, or a homeless person. He got used to it pretty quickly.

Sitting beside the kitchen counter, Stephen watched quietly as Wong put on his apron and worked around the kitchen with ease. He was helpless when it came to cooking, at least he could help his husband with a flick of his wrist by handing him different condiments and cutlery. Different pots and bowls and pieces of food floated to and fro across the kitchen, Wong catching each and using them as intended without batting an eye.

“Do you ever get bored of making this dish over and over?” Stephen asked, genuinely curious. He held his hands behind him and started to work of a meal of his own. He removed the things he needed from the refrigerator as Wong focused his attention on the stove, his back facing him.

“No, I don’t mind. And I cook for myself and Zelma when I can. She gave me her grandmother’s  _ menudo _ recipe recently, I wish I could make it for you.”

He liked hearing Wong speak with a smile in his voice. He simply wished it wouldn’t go away so quickly.

As Wong cooked on, Stephen looked beside him and smiled at the meal he made for Wong that not even a child could mess up. He placed it on their dining table, spoon at the ready, and returned to his seat. He was sure that his husband would appreciate it.

“Stephen?” Wong asked out, still facing the stove.

“Yes?”

“You added salt to the cereal, not sugar.”

He had no idea how Wong noticed his gift, and how he could mess up this horribly. Stephen sighed and was forced to throw away the food into the trash. He  _ hated _ wasting food, he’d seen enough starvation to last a lifetime, but salted milk was one of the few things that was completely inedible to anyone.

Once finished, Wong set a plate of what Stephen now called food on the dinner table, and a plate of leftovers for himself on his opposite side. If he was being honest, Wong managed to make the gross mash of body parts taste delicious. He was sure his palette had suffered permanent damage at this point, the kind that magic couldn’t fix. In front of him, Wong ate his own meal quietly. Stephen had no idea how he managed to ignore and still kiss him after seeing him eat -- he doesn’t think he could stomach looking at  _ himself  _ eat this.

Under the table, Wong’s bare feet rested on top of his shoes. Unmoving, just resting there. When he got up to get tea for the two of them, he placed them there again, until Stephen took off his shoes and did the same.

Wong smiled against his cup.

It had been so long since he played footsie (Is that what the kids still called it?). He felt like a teenager, sneaking touches to a girlfriend under the table when his parents weren’t looking. Except they were alone now, and Wong closed his eyes and drank his tea as he continued to pretend that he wasn’t rubbing his foot up and down Stephen’s leg.

He’s surprised Wong even made a first move. After what he did... after what he  _ tried _ to do, he’s surprised the man is still even here, trying to move past his mistakes. Stephen wanted to be good for him, he wanted to try again, but he’ll just end up messing it all up again, just like he always did. 

Stephen continued to eat while Wong’s sneaked his foot farther up his thigh, that still managed to stay elegant and smooth despite the fact that Wong had taken a liking to not wearing any shoes recently. He gulped and tried to focus on meal. The man was nothing if not persistent.

He couldn’t let Wong touch him like this, Stephen didn’t deserve it. He should do something for him instead. It only seemed fair. 

Stephen drank down a large gulp of water, feeling tense. Wong had stopped rubbing his thigh and was simply resting his foot against him, watching closely with a face of growing concern. “Stephen? Do you not... want this?”

“No. I mean, yeah but...” He set his hands of the table, already used to watching them shake on the scratched, wooden table he’d bought himself, decades ago, back when the Sanctum wasn’t battered and beaten and he was new to the world of magic. “Can I touch you instead?”

Wong smiled, looking calm. Perhaps understanding his self-punishment, but saying nothing of it. “Of course.”

The man made a startled noise when Stephen disappeared beneath the table, kneeling between Wong’s legs and spreading them apart slowly. It wasn’t that sudden, he was making sure Wong was comfortable, but Wong giggled above him nonetheless, causing his chest to feel warmer than before. He didn’t deserve him.

“Oh, are you going to do this now? Down there?” Wong asked, he didn’t seem off put by the idea, though. 

“You were going to give me a footjob just two minutes ago. Why not?”

“I was going to request we went to bed but... I don’t mind this at all.” 

Stephen smiled between Wong’s legs as he pulled down on the hem of the man’s pants, with Wong’s help, pressing his mouth against the head of his half-hard cock, growing harder and more interested with every bob of his lips. He hadn’t done this much, and as much as Stephen personally enjoyed oral he wasn’t used to sucking cock -- he wanted to learn for Wong. For his husband, christ. 

As he moved, he felt a soft hand lean against his cheek, stroking it encouragingly as Wong gasped above him, swearing in Mandarin. Wong always tried his hardest to be quiet at times like these, but he could never quite make it. Both of his hands were on Stephen’s face now, pulling at his hair so he could go a bit faster -- rougher -- but never quite forcing him to move how he liked it. Stephen closed his eyes and hummed around Wong’s cock, holding him by his trembling knees. He almost gagged as the man bucked his hips -- curse him for a novice.

It didn’t take long before Wong finished -- it was quicker than usual, maybe the fact that Stephen was sucking him off in the middle of an open room turned him on more than he thought -- all over Stephen’s lips and down his throat. Stephen didn’t complain, as much as Wong always said he would help him clean up, and just wiped it away with his tongue and the back of his hand instead. While Wong was still catching his breath, Stephen tucked him back in his pants and rose to for a kiss. 

Wong pulled away after a brief moment of bliss, he looked so sad. “Your mouth tastes like ash.”

“I was going to joke that I finally found something I could eat but... it seems not even  _ that’s  _ digestible for me.” 

It didn’t lighten the mood as much as he expected it to. Wong sighed and shook his head. “I will find you a cure, I promise.”

He wouldn’t. At least Stephen didn’t think so. The damage in his body was too severe for anyone that couldn’t use magic to heal. And now no one had magic, he’d gotten used to it by now. It was his life now, spiraling out of control, with only one constant holding it together. 

He kissed Wong and gave him a smile -- he wasn’t sure if it was real or not. “Why don’t we go to the bed?”

Wong looked at him, face calm and stoic again, and nodded.

 

\---

  
  


_ The ritual has taken him hours. It is the job of a Sorcerer Supreme, of course, but damn it if it’s not absolutely irritating. _

_ As the stars in the Milky Way align with the Seventh Sun of Avelan, as they do every year, all the guardians of dimensions are expected to perform this tedious task to avoid the alignment from actually ever happening. The event would be nothing less than catastrophic, and the last thing our solar system needs is an extra, giant sun surrounding the one that already brings life to earth. It is his duty, and he needs absolute silence if he is to meditate for seven hours, uninterrupted.  _

_ As he gazes into the beyond, his mind intertwining with the hundreds of thousands other minds doing exactly what he is, their consciousness expands towards nothingness, then light, then pure energy, pushing away the alignment of the soon dying sun inch by inch. Hopefully, if they are able to do this every year for another two thousand years, they will be able to avoid any interdimensional catastrophe related to the seven suns for eons.  _

_ He prayed to the Vishanti that it works. He does not get a response, as per usual.  _

_ As the hours pass, Stephen still in his trance, he can feel the ritual coming to an end soon. The calm minds connected to his own inform him that they are finished in their world, and leave one by one, wishing luck and blessing him. Stephen fully expects himself to do the same, they can only push the alignment so far as to avoid exhaustion, or even worse.  _

_ Which is why he was extremely confused as to why he heard a knock on the door. No one is supposed to come in here, he was sure he told Wong just yesterday. _

_ Stephen heard the knocking again and the concentration is broken. His job is unfinished, and the other Sorcerer Supreme were unaware that he is not with them. He felt himself seethe, his face probably red hot with anger. His trembling hands almost grabbed at the nearest vase and flung it at the wall. Almost. _

_ He stomped to the door, still in his robes as he conjured his cloak to fall over his shoulder. He expected some villain coming in unannounced, or a hero with impeccably bad timing, but instead, he saw Wong, looking up at him with a calm face. It made Stephen even more furious.  _

_ “Master, I--” _

_ “Wong, you imbecile! You just interrupted my ritual of the Seventh Sun!” He clenched his teeth before he spoke again. “What is so important that you think it’s fine to interrupt me at this hour? I swear, if it’s one of those Avengers fellows...” _

_ The shorter man paused before speaking, his head now staring at the floor. “I am sorry, I was not aware. I--” _

_ “Well, who is it?! Spit it out!” _

_ “A telegram for you, from an old college friend.” He held the small paper out for him with both hands. Stephen snatched it from his grasp and crumpled it. _

_ “You interrupted my ritual for a measly  _ **_telegram_ ** _?!” Stephen threw the crumpled paper next to him. Wong didn’t watch as it lands on the floor next to his feet, he only watched him, face unreadable. “Do not speak to me or open this door until dawn. Do. You. Understand?” _

_ He saw the man bite his tongue before speaking again. “Yes, Master.” _

_ Stephen slammed the door without another word and returns to the carpet he was sitting on. Eventually, after far too long, he connected to the few hundred minds that remain in the ritual’s consciousness, and finished what he started, even if it would take another seven hours. _

_ He closed his eyes, and saw nothing but light. _

_ When he opened them again, it took his eyes a while before adjusting to the real, material light that faced him. He was no longer sitting two feet above the ground in the middle of his study, but instead found himself in his room, laying on his bed. _

_ A hand came to rest on his shoulder. It was Wong’s, he knew without even looking at the other man. A soft voice told him to sit up and have a sip of water -- Stephen did as told, allowing the man to help him drink. With a steady grip on his upper back, he layed back slowly again. There was something on his head, something cold and wet, it just be some sort of ice pack. _

_ “How long was I out?” Stephen croaked out. He was shivering, but his body could not be sweating more.  _

_ “I suspect about ten hours, but I do not know exactly. I only just found you at dawn, when you told me that I was allowed to speak to you again.” _

_ “I suspect this is when you tell me ‘I told you so’.” _

_ Wong said nothing and simply moved his ice pack to his chest. _

_ Of course, he must have made himself exhausted from doing the spell for too long and fainted. Stephen groaned, all the time focusing on the Seventh Sun made his body far too hot. It was a miracle the fever had not killed him. _

_ No, it wasn’t a miracle. It was Wong. _

_ The shorter man was currently standing up beside the bed, shoulders tense and looking directly at the wall. He looked like a soldier. “Master, I’m sorry for not keeping track of your rituals correctly.” He bowed, ninety degrees. “I promise I will keep track of those things myself. It is my duty to know and inform you of such occurrences, and I failed you.” _

_ Stephen watched, tired and confused as to why he was apologizing.  _

_ “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you, master.”  _

_ He shook his head. “It was my fault, I told you not to see me until dawn.” _

_ “Yes, but I was the one who interrupted you in the first place. It was careless and irresponsible.” _

_ He wondered how the man had the patience to do this instead of not socking him in the face the moment Stephen yelled at him. What did they do to him at Kamar-Taj? _

_ “No, it wasn’t. Please, sit down, my dear friend.” He reached out a hand. “I apologize for yelling at you.” _

_ Wong stared at hand. Stephen closed his eyes and simply waited for the man to shake it eventually. He knew it wasn’t custom for him, but he needed to know that things were alright again between the two of them, and Stephen couldn’t exactly bow back at the moment.  _

_ Wong took his hand instead, the smaller, softer palm fitting right into his own. It was odd, but Stephen squeezed it for good measure. “Apology accepted, master.” _

_ He gulped at the word, it made him feel odd. He should probably tell Wong not to call him that one of these days. _

_ He was still holding his hand. _

_ A wave of exhausted passed through his body as his head throbbed with pain after hours of intense concentration. Stephen decided the resting would be the best thing to do, he doubted he could be useful trying to do anything else. _

_ His friend did not let go until he was fast asleep, but his hand ached more than usual the next morning, like it was pressed too tightly, hard enough to break _

 

_ \--- _

 

Sex will always grow into something less passionate after marriage -- something a little less loving and more into a chore or a routine. Stephen knew this all too well from his years with Clea. The Faltian was insatiable, with a stamina that could exhaust a dozen nymphomaniacs. As much as he adored her, body and mind alike, both incredibly strong in their own right, he needed at least four separate spells to survive a night with his wife. He joked that it was a miracle his cock didn’t fall out, Clea responded with ‘ _ well, you’ll still have your mouth and hands’.  _ When it came to sex, he saw hints of her mother’s personality in the woman, never cruel, but just a bit selfish. Stephen supposed he never really minded.

Sex with Clea could become stressful, exhausting, but damn him if it was never passionate. In the few scattered moments where he was able to please her and not wrapped in preparing a spell or saving the dimension, he would always take his time to admire his wife. She was gorgeous, with her soft, darker skin complementing the platinum white hair that fell to her shoulders or grew between her legs, and her pastel pink eyes that shone even in the darkness to remind him that she was not human, she was otherworldly and one of a kind, and should be treated as such. She made him fuck her on every inch of the mattress, the floor, the walls, sometimes even the roof if she felt like it. Clea moaned like it was her first time every time, her voice echoing through the walls of the Sanctum, and each one felt holy, like he didn’t even deserve to hear it. No one did. After sex, they would lounge in bed as Clea smiled to herself in content and Stephen tried to regain his breath and mend his bones so they wouldn’t ache. She would always smile at the sight of his weaker, spent body, always in a way that was endearing just as it was a bit teasing. Clea would kiss him, everywhere, as a thank you, and her lips always tasted like honey and other terran shugary sweets she’d learned to love, like the softest thing to ever fall upon his scarred, rugged body. He knew she could never be truly sated, not even with a third party. Clea -- dearest Clea -- never once complained about their time together like this, as they were both well aware how scared it could become. Once, he asked her what her favourite feeling was. She said hunger. 

Now, it went like this:

He was sitting against with his back against the wall of Wong’s bed, the sight of his own mattress made him filled with unease, but all he could focus on was the sight before him. Wong was on his lap, his cock buried to the hilt inside him, as the trembling, shorter man rode him in sharp, quick movements of his built thighs. Stephen had his hands resting on the man’s side, they were large enough hold most of Wong’s hips, easing him gently on his cock. The man was quiet save for the gasps and whimpers that escaped him. He always tried to act proper -- collected -- even at times like these, it never worked. His head was tilted to the side, plump lips half open and eyes closed shut, Stephen was half tempted to lean in and kiss him, push him back a bit and leave red marks all over his neck and nipples with his lips and the scratch of his beard, but he was entranced by the sight before him. Wong shifted his hips as if overstimulated -- as if he’s afraid to experience it. He was gorgeous, and just as scarred as himself, olive skin covered in a sheen of sweat -- he looked desperate. He looked human. 

The man leaned toward him without warning, hips still moving but his legs are too tired to keep going all by himself. Wong wrapped his arms around Stephen’s neck and leaned his forehead to his shoulder, panting. He said something in mandarin that translated to ‘ _ please, touch me’.  _ Stephen wasn’t used to having a spouse that begged like him. Wong clenched around him, urging him to move. 

Stephen’s hand moved from the man’s hip to his lower back, holding him steady as he pushed him on his back into the mattress, his cock sliding out off his hole. They both groan at the loss, though Wong sounds more like a whine. Then he’s above Wong, who remains on his back as he is, looking so sweet, open and pleading. He expected him to beg again, or stare at him with his hazy eyes, but instead he reached up to touch his face as Stephen pressed the head of his cock back into his entrance, thumb stroking at his cheekbone. Stephen leans into it. 

He pushes in and begins to fuck him -- no, he makes love to him. Stephen moves slowly yet roughly in a way that he knows Wong can take, and loves. His husband’s face is thrown back and is completely lost in pleasure, Stephen can’t being himself to face anywhere else other than the way Wong’s mouth is open and he’s making these little  _ ah-ah-ah  _ noises as he’s pounded into. 

It feels so good he almost doesn’t notice that Wong started to stroke himself as he fucked him -- that won’t do. Stephen reached between them and took Wong’s cock in his hand -- he doesn’t want the man to worry about a single thing other than his own pleasure. He wants to teach him to love it too.

“Oh, Stephen...” The man moans, speaking English again. His voice doesn’t sound like his own, he must feel like a man possessed. “Stephen--”

He cuts him off with a hand to his cheek, the other still stroking his husband’s weeping cock, calming him down and getting him ready to finish. “I got you, darling.” When he heard Wong gasp at his words, he continued. “You look gorgeous, my dear. I can feel you. You’re so close.”

“Ah, I need to -- Oh,  _ gods _ !”

Wong cums like he’s not used to allowing himself to do so. He cries out, the loudest sound he allowed himself to make, before he’s back to only small whimpers that are just for him. Stephen keeps fucking him despite the overstimulation. The man is so tight and still, he can finally indulge in the sight beneath him. 

“ _ Wong...”  _ He groaned, his thrusts uneven and rushed as he felt all the muscles in his body tense up with that familiar, wonderful feeling. His husband shivers beneath him and spreads his legs -- that always reminded him of their wedding night, he wondered if anything can compared to that, but this was coming damn close. “Gonna... inside you. Can I?” It was so good he could barely speak.

Wong made a small noise that sounded like a  _ yes  _ and Stephen spilled inside of him before the sound even reached his ears. The feeling was _ exquisite _ , and the sight of watching his cum fall from his lover’s entrance was something Stephen has always liked to indulge in. He couldn’t do it with Clea very much, Faltian pregnancy seemed complex and the idea of the Sorcerer Supreme having a child was laughably unlikely, no matter how much they had toyed with the idea. He didn’t have to worry about any of that with Wong, for obvious reasons, and allowed himself to enjoy his secret kink. Well, not that secret, as his husband gave him a bit of a knowing look as Stephen finally fell out of his trance. 

“Enjoying the view?” Wong asked, voiced soft and collected again. Even like this -- sweaty, dirty and covered in come -- Wong looked more proper and dignified than he could ever hope to be. 

Stephen smirked and brought his lips to Wong’s, looming over him and half tempted to lick all of the bodily fluids coating the man’s chest and hole, but he knew Wong hated it when he did that. “You look gorgeous like this.”

“Just like this? A pity.” He teased, the sort of jokes he only ever made for him. He sees hints of  _ her  _ influence in his words. 

They kissed for a bit longer, the sort of kisses that made Stephen wish he could stay like this forever And forget about the fact that he had a city to protect, worlds to save, heroes that were constantly asking for his help out of pity or just from not knowing how weak he was now. Moments like these helped him forget everything, at least for a while. It was like a form of meditation, or nirvana -- he could get used to this. Maybe he already was.

Wong kissed him once more and took his hands, rubbing circles to the palm to stop them from aching. “Thank you for this, it was nice.”

"Thought that was my duty as your husband, making you feel good.” Stephen’s voice lowered once he spoke again. “I’m trying to make up for all the times I didn’t.”

Wong stilled, for a brief moment he seemed angry, and pushes him to the side. Gently, not to harm him, but the intent is there. “Is that what this is about?”

“I thought maybe--”

His husband sighed before getting up from the mattress, cheeks still red but he doesn’t think it’s from arousal anymore. He heads for the bathroom without hearing what Stephen has to say, thought he doesn’t completely understand why Wong would be frustrated. He was making things better, he was focusing on Wong’s needs and keeping all his attention, or the attention he could spare, on making things right between them.

He heard the shower head turn on, muffling any noise that either of them might make. For the first time in ages, Stephen craved a cigarette. He also says  _ fuck _ under his breath, over and over, trying to figure out what the hell he did wrong this time.

Wong walked out, still naked and drying himself off with a towel. When he sits on the bed beside him again, he feels cold, slighting damp, and smells like honey. He doesn’t understand how the man managed to sit so elegantly every time, straight out of a naked painting he would see in a museum. He didn’t think Wong would find his thoughts exactly flattering right now.

“Why can’t sex just be sex?” Wong finally asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Why does everything have to be a damn apology? Not everything has to be a sacrifice, done out of grief or penance.” His husband shook his head. How long has this been on his head? “You can’t fix everything with sex.”

“I don’t try to fix everything with sex.”

Wong gave him a pointed look. “You’re right. You didn't try fix anything at all. And now you’re trying, desperately, and this is the only way you know how to.”

“Listen, I don’t--”

“Don’t lie to me, Stephen Strange.”

Clea said the same to him years ago, in the exact same tone. It was like going back in time for half a second. The words haunt him.

“You look at me and see a man who was forced to be your servant decades ago that you ignored for years.” He paused. “I knew exactly what I got into when I agreed to move with you to New York. I made peace with it a long time ago, I know how to move on from things. I don’t need any more apologies, I just want... you.”

Wong was way too good at reading him. He was like an open book to the man.

“I am giving myself to you, my dear.” He held out his hand for Wong to take. He did so, cautiously. “Focusing just on you.”

“No, I don’t want that. I want you to take care of yourself. You’ve always done this..when you were with Miss Clea--”

Stephen physically flinched at the name.

“--you would ignore her and focus wholy on your work more than your own well being and the people around you. You haven’t changed in that respect, as much as you like to think you have. Being self-sacrificing is not always a good thing.”

“It’s part of being Sorcerer Supreme. You don’t understand what it’s like.”

“I understand completely because  _ I  _ have been the one that has managed to keep you alive when you take things too far.” He heard him saw something under his breath that sounded like  _ blood magic --  _ he still hasn’t gotten over that. He doesn’t blame him, Stephen was bleeding black ooze from his eyes for days. Still does now and then, actually. "Stephen, there are limits and there is a balance you must keep. Magic or no magic, you cannot be a proper Sorcerer Supreme if you are starving and haven’t slept in days, no amount of meditation can make up for that. You can’t ignore this."

Wong just didn’t  _ get it _ . The sorcerer frowned and let go of his husband's hand. He’d had enough of being explained things he already understood. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew exactly what he was doing to his body, and he saved people because of it. Magic came with a price, it seemed that Wong never got that lesson from the Ancient One. He frowned, “Fine, I get it. I ignored Clea, had sex with other women, and she left me because I was a fucking idiot. Is that what you want to hear?”

“No, Stephen.”

“Then what the  _ hell _ do you want from me?!”

He didn’t mean to yell, he swore he didn’t. Wong didn’t even flinch at his words, the fact that he was used to it made him feel even worse. Stephen sunk back into the mattress and turned his body to face away from Wong. 

He tried to think of something Wong has done wrong, a mistake of some sort. But Wong has never hurt him, has never done or said anything to him that isn’t justified. Wong has saved his life a hundred times, Stephen owes him a hundred lifetimes.

Wong, in his mind’s eye, remained unmarred and perfect. Just like Clea. There could never be anything wrong with them, nothing they could be blamed for. 

No one spoke for a long time.

As the time passed and Stephen had enough time to remember how much of a terrible person he was, he felt a hand come to rest on the middle of his back. He paused, then rolled with his back against the bed once more, looking up at the ceiling. Wong’s hand was now resting on top of his heart. 

"I want you to reevaluate yourself. You have changed, and change is good, but not when it is eating you from the inside out with all this rage, and pain..." He sighed. “All this misery.”

“Been there for a long time.” Stephen croaked out.

“I know.” His husband ran his fingers over the expanse of his chest, feeling a scar. He almost forgot that he was naked, and this was just happening minutes after they were having such a nice time. Did Stephen really have to fuck up every good thing that happened to him? “I felt the same once.”

Stephen eyes tightened shut. He was talking about Imei.

Stephen stayed silent and felt Wong press close to him, his smaller frame resting his head on Stephen's chest. "When Imei passed, I was so angry at you. I wanted to hurt you so badly and I... I hated it. I hated the feeling so much. And then I did it again, I pressed a knife to your chest--”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wasn’t... Wasn’t trying to. You have to believe me.”

“I do.” Wong turned his head to look at him. “But you did.” His tone lacked the steel for accusation. Still hurt. Stephen never actually gave him a decent apology.

Stephen moved his hand and felt up Wong’s spine with the tip of his fingers. He felt goosebumps. “I did.”

Wong eased against him -- maybe that’s all he wanted to hear from him, acceptance. A confession. Maybe that’s what he should have done in the first place. 

The weight of Wong made it easier to be vulnerable. It had always been easier with him, even when they were still trying to understand each other. Even in moments where they angry at each other. Wong might understand him completely, but his husband was still a stranger to Stephen in a way. A stranger he trusted completely, fully. 

A stranger he was married to.

He would go to hell and back for Wong. He would, and has, moved planets and mountains alike to make sure he’s safe. 

That would be easy. They had saved each other before. 

The hard part was getting used to the fact that they were doing it because they were in love.

Stephen sat up while Wong’s head was still on his lap, looking up at him curiously. He wasn’t exactly sure how to say what he wanted to, but he had to. 

“Why have you stayed? After all this time? After... y’know?”

Wong bit his lip. “I have left a couple of times, actually.”

“But you always come back.”

“Yes,” he smiled out of one half of his mouth. “I knew that if I left you alone, the Sanctum would be chaos. You don’t know half of the things that happen in our home. I am supposed to protect the Sorcerer Supreme -- how anticlimactic would it be to have you die because you didn’t clean the fridge or opened a door you shouldn’t have?”

_ Our home _ . “I should probably help you a bit with that.”

“You’ll grow bored of cleaning, just as you did in Kamar-Taj.” Wong smiled fondly at the memory. “You were insufferable.”

Stephen was, and he probably told Wong to go fuck himself a dozen times a day back then, but Wong would simply retaliate by making him the worse food he’d ever had the displeasure of eating. It went on like that for at least six months before they finally tolerated each other.

“I still don’t understand why you agreed to come with me to New York in the first place. You hated the house at first, you told me you prefer to live at the shack.”

Wong turned, impassively. “Hm?” Then he seemed to realize what Stephen meant and smiled, remembering something he couldn’t place. “I was assigned to take care of you by the Ancient One, I assume he knew what you were destined to become, but I didn’t. I just thought you were another entitled American with an attitude.”

Stephen shrugged. “You weren’t wrong.”

“No, but seeing as I was the one monk who was always causing the other ones trouble, and thought myself more rebellious than the others, I thought you were interesting in a way that an angry, screeching cat could be endearing.” It would sound rude from anybody else, but it sounded amused and warm, somehow, from the man’s mouth. Stephen didn’t take it personally. “All the other monks were so uptight and quiet. I think that’s why you caught my attention in the first place, you were the exact opposite.

Wong paused, a smile forming in his face again before he spoke. “The shack had nice memories.”

“Really?” Stephen laughed. “All I remember was being cold all the time and eating stew.”

He saw some heat come to Wong’s cheeks making them bright red. “Is that really all you remember?”

“What do you mean?” The memory came back to him before he even finished the sentence. It had been so long, but he remembered the crisis well. It was a sort of unspoken moment between the two of them, out of the desperate search for heat and after being confined alone in such a small place for so long. He’d forgotten the fact that Wong and him had touched each other, only once, promising never to talk of it again. It was back in the sixties when Stephen was supposed to think such acts were sinful. He let go of that notion long ago. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot...”

“I know.” He slid up to meet his face, lips grazing against his own. “I never did.”

Stephen tried to dig in deeper, trying to remember the exact details of that night, but he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried. “Can’t remember anything. For ages I thought that was all a weird wet dream I had.”

His husband looked down sheepishly, a hand lazily dragging his fingers through the hairs on his chest. “I made you believe it was a dream...”

The sorcerer widened his eyes. “What? Why?”

“I wasn’t allowed to meddle in your journey to becoming Sorcerer Supreme!” Wong sounded panicked, like it was the first time he admitted this to anyone, and Wong wasn’t one for panicking. “I was just there to oversee and care for you. Distracting you with desires and lust would affect your work and studies...” He trailed off -- ironically enough, Stephen allowed his desires to distract him just shortly after moving to New York. They both knew that.

“What spell did you cast?” Maybe there was a way to reverse it, if it wasn’t a powerful spell.

“No spell, just a cup of camomile tea.”

“Infused with something?"

“No. It was just a very good cup of tea.” Wong cleared his throat. “You fell asleep immediately after you drank it and woke up hours later, assuming it was a dream. I thought about drinking it myself but... I enjoyed it.”

“Of course you did, I know what I’m doing.” He gave him a smirk.

With a serene sigh, Wong huffed. “I wouldn’t have known otherwise. It was my first time.” He said it so carelessly, like it was something he thought Stephen wouldn’t give a shit about. The idea of it so important to most people, but to Wong, it seemed like a joke.

“Really? Not even in Kamar-Taj? I mean, look at you.” Stephen moved his hand up and down Wong’s back. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’re gorgeous.”

Wong blushed, not denying it. Stephen spoke up again. “Was it not allowed?” 

“Perhaps. I never bothered finding out beyond those who did it in secret. I was never close to the other monks and students. I was too busy with the Ancient One to have time to care. Then I was appointed to stay with you...”

“And you had a change of heart?” 

Wong laughed as he shook his head. “It was more of an undying curiosity. My childhood was not like yours, Stephen. I did not go to a school, I had no parents to teach me the things parents would teach. Everything I learned was on my own, or connected to martial arts. I was never allowed to learn magic because it was not part of my destiny. When you came around, entitled and so,  _ so _ angry yet allowed to  _ know _ , I was overcome by jealousy.” 

There it is. Another piece in the puzzle that was Wong. Stephen saved his words and adds it to his collection, knowing that he might not get much else in a while. He didn’t want to probe. 

Wong continued, “That jealousy turned to attraction, and I had never been so confused and scared. I had heard stories of westerners coming to our country and... having their way with other monks. When we were stuck in the shack in the mountain together, I thought it was only a matter of time--”

Stephen’s breath hitched, panicked for a memory he did not remember. “I didn’t -- I wouldn’t --”

“You did not.” His chest was pressed against his own, both of his hands holding his face, thumbs lighting running over his beard. He was making sure Stephen listened to him, that he didn’t beat himself over something he didn’t do. “You were kind.”

The panic stopped, quickly, and he allowed himself to close his eyes again. “So you just... let me touch you?”

After a while, Wong nodded. “Yes.” He said, quietly. “I wanted to know how it felt like. Just once.” 

He never said exactly what  _ it  _ is.

How long had Wong kept this secret? Had he told Imei? Clea? He could have made his life a living hell for him and Clea had he let it out -- or just made things awkward. It wasn’t dangerous, nor was it cheating on her, per se, not when they did it before he even knew who Clea even was, but it was just enough to crumble yet another pillar in their relationship that was already so sensitive from the start. Maybe Clea wouldn’t have cared either way, but he knew he would have, had the role been reversed.

He’s never been good at this.

“You erased the memory of us having sex almost fifty years ago.” Stephen said, mostly to himself.

“I had to put aside my desires. I had been told I could only be your... servant, nothing more.” He said the word with resignation, not the anger that Stephen would expect, had their roles been reversed. Wong accepted his fate long ago. Stephen swallowed his guilt.

“You sacrificed your well-being in order to do what you must.” Stephen huffed. “Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

“This was different.”

“Perhaps, but the point still stands. Magic is about sacrifice. Are we just going to pretend that you once decided you weren’t going to tell me that you had cancer? That you were going to let yourself die? That you thought you were expendable?”

No matter how angry Stephen can pretend to be, they both know that none of this is even somewhat comparable to what Stephen had done. His husband curled up where he sat, pressing his knees to his chest. “I am fully aware magic is a sacrifice. I have been told since the day I was born. We both sacrificed many things, we’ve both lost the things we love.”

The sorcerer lowered his voice, speaking as softly as he could muster. “Do you regret it? Letting me forget?” When he didn’t get an answer right away, he spoke again, voice lower. “Do you think things would be different?”

Despite everything, Wong huffed out a smile. He always had a beautiful smile, he wondered if he’d told him yet. He wondered if Wong knew. “Look at us. We are exactly where we were always going to be.”

Stephen paused in thought. Wong was right. He always was.

Wong reached a hand up to touch his face again, his beard rubbing against the man’s soft palm. Stephen breathed out, lost in the spell of his touch. He should same something, another apology or some sort of promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. He had to leave in a few hours, had to go around the city and make sure that there was no abstinence of his surveillance in the magical world. He knew Wong would be here, waiting for him, but he left the thought at the tip of his tongue. The touch is so comforting after so long without it. He relaxed into it, resting his head on Wong’s shoulder. He allowed himself to cherish it because he didn’t know how long it has been since he’d last been giving this willingly.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” Stephen whispered, almost as a secret. He was slowly getting used to apologizing.

“Accepted.” Wong pressed a kiss to his lips. It’s short and chaste but it’s everything he needed. It’s more than he deserved. “You need to go soon, I need to fix you something to eat.”

“I think we can spare a few minutes.” Stephen’s hands graze back to Wong’s lower back, pulling him closer.

Wong shook his head. “No, we can’t. Did you not hear what I said just a couple of minutes ago? I’m not having sex with you as an apology.”

“Sex? No, I’m too old for another round.” He joked. Wong relaxed in his arms once more, not trying to move away. “I thought we could lay down together.”

“Do you want to... cuddle?”

Stephen winced at the word. “I wouldn’t call it that...”

“But you do. Don’t you?”

“...Yes.”

They do. Stephen laid down on the mattress once more with Wong on top of him, both of them fully undressed but Stephen takes the bedsheet and drapes it over the two of them, his free hand rubbing its thumb over Wong’s plump lips. His husband looks up at him with a soft smile that he doesn’t understand, but still accepted. 

The man loved him so much. It was only until now that Stephen realized he felt the same way. 

Maybe he should tell him.

Probably not now, thought. Wong would think it’s out of pity.

He swallowed the words back inside his gut until he can find the right moment. In the meantime, Stephen enjoyed the comfortable silence before he had to leave for Vishanti knew how long. 

Stephen closed his eyes. His dreams are a lot calmer these days.

When he woke up, Wong is already dressing himself without facing him. He thought that he should look for something to wear, but there was already a neatly folded change of clothes on the corner of the bed. As is his axe and his cloak, resting against the mattress, waiting to accompany for another journey. 

He didn’t know how long it will take. Maybe a few weeks. Maybe a month. He knew that Wong wouldn’t be alone, he had Zelma to keep him company. Hell, he had the entire city. 

Stephen didn’t actually know who else Wong had besides Zelma and him. It felt like something he should know. 

He dressed with Wong’s help -- didn’t need it anymore, he knew all the tricks of putting on belts with trembling hands by now, but he accepted the help -- and stared at him once he finished. “I’m going.” He said, as if it needed to be said.

“I will be here.” Wong answered with a half smile, his humor characteristically dark.  _ Where else would I be _ ? He could add, but it’s left unsaid.

He ached to kiss him again, forget about the call he received and push him back into bed again -- he didn’t, he knew Wong wouldn’t like it. He settled for taking Wong’s hand in his own, pressing a kiss to the ring that adorned it, half-conscious about the fact that his hand is bare save for scars.

“I, uh, don’t know when I’ll be back. Billy and Merlin called, something about the Supremes meeting up. Didn’t catch the details.” He explained, as if Wong needed it.

“Stephen, just go.” In any other tone, it would sound scathing. Wong’s voice is content and calm, almost surprised to see Stephen hesitate. He usually left without a word. He must find this charming. “You will come back.”

It was not a question. It was a matter a fact. An imperative. A demand.

Stephen dropped his hand, still staring at him. “I’ll come back.” He was sure of it now.

It’s the last thing he said. And then he was gone.

 

\---

 

_ Stephen turned for the third time in a minute. The cold was too much, every part of him was shivering, and his hands ached more than they had in months. Who would think that staying in a shack in a Tibetan mountain in the winter would be difficult for him? _

_ He would kill to go back to New York and have a cup of coffee. Or a spell that provided heat properly. _

_ He looked beside him and saw Wong, who had his share of pelts to keep him warm, as still as a log. Maybe he was used to this. _

_ Stephen had been too damn stubborn to ask the man for help, and ended up claiming that he could spend the night comfortably with a wool blanket and a thick pair of thermal underwear. _

_ It wasn’t nearly enough. Stephen had been spoiled by his heating system back at his old penthouse, and by all the spells that kept Kamar-Taj at a decent climate compared to the mountain it was hidden on.  _

_ He was going to freeze to death, or at least get hypothermia. Stephen no longer had the right to be stubborn. _

_ “W-Wong?” He asked out, gently touching the man beside him.  _

_ Wong sat up and stared at him with a stoic face, probably unsurprised by his state. His expression was already giving him an unspoken I-told-you-so. “Are you too cold?” _

_ The American let out an awkward laugh. “Y-Yeah.” _

_ Wong moved his pelts aside and pulled them towards him. The man slept naked. Stephen moved as well to give him some room, knowing what he was going to do. The weight and warmth of the yak fur on top of him seemed to do the trick, feeling instantly relieved, but he was still shivering. Next to him, Wong rested his head on his pillow, watching him intently. _

_ It was a bit intimidating, to be honest. Stephen pulled back a bit. _

_ "Um, thank you.” He said, knowing that he probably won’t get a response. _

_ Without warning, despite the cold ache enveloping his fingertips he felt a warm touch against his scarred skin, stroking his palms. Wong was using his body heat to warm up his hands. Despite the fact that this was a bit too intimate for Stephen’s liking, and that it was the touch of another man, no less, he couldn’t help but admit that it felt wonderful.  _

_ Sinful, his mother would have said. Poor boys taken by demons and made confused.  _

_ He’d seen demons -- they were nothing like Wong.  _

_ He pulled his hands away and cleared his throat. They felt much warmer, and ached less. “Thanks. They feel better now.” _

_ Wong nodded like a damn robot and spoke up, actually spoke, his voice soft and just as warm as his hands. “Let me know if you need anything else. Good night.” _

_ With that he turned to his side, his back facing him, and fell asleep again. Stephen had half the decency not to look under the sheets and see what the man looked like without his usual green, traditional outfit he always wore. He didn’t, it would be wrong. _

_ Being cooped in this shack for so long was making him desperate for heat in more ways than one. _

_ Stephen finally managed to sleep shortly after, the sounds of the harsh winter wind and the fur surrounding making him rest soundly and calmly. Ever since learning magic, his dreams have become vivid and even terrifying. He dreamt of nothing that night, it was blissful. _

_ Waking up, on second hand, was not.  _

_ Somehow, his body managed to find itself pressed up against his new companion’s back, spooning him and holding him close. He had no idea if he’d forced the man to get close to him as he slept, but he stayed unmoving even after he moved his arms away, possibly still asleep. Stephen, no matter how uninterested he was, had his body working against him, and his half-hard cock was pressing against Wong’s backside. His naked backside. _

_ Stephen moved away almost immediately and faced his body to the other way. Christ, what would Wong think of him? He wasn’t some desperate tourist, he was supposed to be a master sorcerer now, Wong was just a guy who got roped into this situation with him.  _

_ Still panicking at the thought of feeling desire for another man, Stephen grabbed his winter clothes and hurriedly put it on. He  needed some air.  _

_ “I’m going out to get some food.” He said, the route to the nearest village now as familiar as the back of his hand. He didn’t expect a response, he just expected Wong to keep sleeping. _

_ But he did: “Alright.” _

_ His voice sounded as clear and calm as ever, meaning he must’ve been awake, and knew exactly why Stephen was leaving in such a hurry.  _

_ Knowing Wong, he probably won’t bring up the subject at all, which was a half relief, but it was so embarrassing. _

_ He hurried out without another word and decided it would be best if he started sleeping facing the other way from Wong. _

_ It didn’t work, he ended up in the exact same position as before, with his mouth resting on the side of Wong’s neck. Next to him, he could feel every single movement the man made, could feel him breathing steadily. Maybe this time he was actually asleep, and Stephen could simply move away again. _

_ Except Wong’s hips move against his cock for a brief second, yawning in his sleep and stretching back against him. It’s barely anything, but just enough to make Stephen pause and remember how good that felt. _

_ No, he couldn’t. The man was sleeping, it would be a mistake and a dishonor to his trust. _

_ Stephen got up and put on his clothes before he could even think twice. He let his companion know that he was picking up extra lumber and tea for the week and did not receive an answer this time. The silence spoke volumes. _

_ By the fifth time it happens, Stephen knew that Wong had to know. He just had to. The tension building up from Stephen’s perspective was palpable, so thick he could cut it with a knife. He wasn’t sure if Wong even cared enough to feel the same. _

_ What should he do in this situation? Apologize? Tell Wong that he wanted to sleep apart again when he  _ **_really_ ** _ didn't actually want that? Use the last of their money that he had in order to buy more pelts?  _

_ Stephen wasn’t sure, but his self control was draining by the second.  _

_ Still, he wasn’t an animal. _

_ The winter winds of the mountains hit hard that night, but they managed to light the fireplace and, despite the wind and snow, the shack is finally warmer than usual. Enough that there’s no reason for them to slept under that yak pelt that night. _

_ They do anyway. Maybe it’s become a sort of unspoken agreement. _

_ Wong faced him as he slipped under the pelts, still unclothed, instead of having his back to him as per usual. His calm, stoic eyes entrancing own.  _

_ “I need to talk to you about something.” He said, and Stephen immediately panicked. _

_ “Um, right. Listen--” _

_ “We need a better place to live. This shack is unbearable.” _

_ The wave of relief hit Stephen instantly. He almost laughed. “Yeah, we need to go somewhere warmer.” _

_ Wong raised an eyebrow. “Leave Tibet? The Sorcerer Supremes have been living here for centuries. It’s tradition.” _

_ He actually laughed this time and patted his companion on the shoulder. “Well, I’m changing. I bet I can find us a good place back in my hometown. I say we go back to New York, at least it’s actually warm there sometimes.” _

_ Wong bristled, still unconvinced. “But we would be far from Kamar-Taj...” _

_ “If you want to stay in Tibet, I won’t stop you.” He lowered his voice. Stephen was sure that Wong didn’t take him seriously most of the time, but he wanted to make sure that Wong knew he meant this. “You can stay in Kamar-Taj, my dear friend.” _

_ Wong paused, then looked down. He wasn’t sure at what, he was probably just hiding his face. “I have never been to a city that big before.” _

_ “I think you’ll like it, maybe. It’s not exactly quiet. It’s... really nothing like Tibet at all.” _

_ “Maybe that can be a good thing.”  _

_ Stephen’s hand was still on Wong’s shoulder, unmoving but gently laying over his skin. He was sweating, just a bit, but he still stayed under the fur. Maybe it meant something. “There are tea shops and libraries and everything you like right there, in the city.” Stephen added, still trying to convince him. “Again, you don’t have to go.” _

_ “I want to.” Wong replied almost instantly, speaking faster than usual. He collected himself after noticing. “I would be happy to go with you, master.” _

_ Stephen smiled lazily. “It’s settled then. We’re moving to New York! After I make sure we have a place to stay, that is. I might have to send some telegrams.” _

_ Wong perked up. “I can do it for you.” _

_ “It’s fine. It’s been awhile since I’ve been able to send a few, anyway. Once the wind clears up in a few days, I’ll head down to the village.” _

_ With that final thought, it seemed that Wong had no idea on how to respond. He stared, face still slightly worried but otherwise he looked at ease. Stephen’s hand had not left his companion’s shoulder -- it aches and trembles but it does not move. He should probably move it away soon. _

_ Except Wong took it in his own softer, smaller hands, just as he did on the first night they slept together like this.  _

_ “Do they still hurt?” _

_ “Less than before... but yes.” _

_ Wong’s eyes were set on his hands, almost entranced by them, as he began to stroke and massage every last bit of his scarred palms and fingers, even his wrists. Stephen swore he could almost moan -- he had the decency not to, at least not out loud. He thought that, since losing his own, he may have developed a fixation for other people’s hands. Wong’s are slender and slightly smaller than his own, yet still masculine and strong, and did everything with them with a practiced, elegant touch. Stephen caught himself staring. Starving for more. _

_ Once finished, Wong crossed his arms against his chest, looking down again. Was he embarrassed? Stephen wasn’t sure. Maybe he should cut back on the staring, it could be making him uncomfortable.  _

_ Stephen looked down as well, only to remember that Wong slept in the nude, and covered himself even further as his eyes trace what he could see of the man’s skin. His eyes dart up quickly, apologetically, but Wong was moving back even further.  _

_ “Sorry, I’m not... you looked down, so I looked down too, and I forgot. I’m not-- I don’t swing that way.” He said, voice calm but the tremor in his voice more noticeable with every syllable, it wouldn’t take a genius to know the last sentence was lie. Maybe. He wasn’t sure yet.  _

_ Wong didn’t stop covering himself, but he stopped moving away from him, and returned back where he was. “Swing that way?” He asked, confused. It wasn’t want Stephen expected him to say. _

_ “It’s, uh, a saying for when you aren’t --” He had no idea how to put this delicately. “When you don’t sleep with men. Don’t have sex with them.” _

_ “Oh.” Is he disappointed? Stephen swore he heard a bit of disappointment in there. It made his heart speed up. “I thought...” _

_ He tensed. “What?” _

_ “N-Nothing. Good night.” With that, Wong turned around and laid to his side.  _

_ There was nothing else he could do. It would be unwise to try to do anything right now other than try to sleep, especially with the tense air that surrounded them. He was sure Wong could feel it too. _

_ He closed his eyes, making sure he wasn’t facing down, and tried his best to fall asleep as quickly as possible.  _

_ Except, after what seemed like just a few moments later, he was pressed up against Wong once again, exactly like the other times he’d found himself in this situation. He swore he hadn’t moved this entire time, he was sure he hadn’t even fallen asleep. _

_ Unless Wong moved to him, not the other way around.  _

_ Stephen made sure to breathe steadily, trying to control his heartbeat just as the Ancient One had taught him, and checked to see if Wong was awake. Pretending he was moving in his sleep, Stephen rested a hand over Wong’s bare chest, the coolness of his hands pressing against warm skin. He felt movement, goosebumps, a heartbeat -- like a hummingbird fluttering against his palm -- Wong was awake, he had to be.  _

_ He knew exactly what he was doing. _

_ “Wong?” He asked in the dim light, in a whisper. “What are you up to?” _

_ There was a tremble, a gasp that escaped the man beside him, but no words beyond that. His heart was impossibly quick, Stephen was scared he might faint in his arms. “Do you want this?” _

_ The nod would have been imperceptible if he wasn’t so close to the man. Stephen tilted his head to rest it close to Wong’s neck. With him this close, he can feel the heat of the fireplace radiating from Wong’s skin. Can smell his scent, crackling wood and the hint of tea that lingered on him at all times, and found himself completely seduced by it. _

_ Stephen doesn’t know which way he swings at this point, couldn’t tell left and right even if he tried, but all directions point at Wong. Damn him if he wasn’t hungry for it. _

_ “Can I touch you?” It's the third question he asks in the span of a minute, but it felt like it’s been hours of this -- teasing and wondering ‘What if? Should he? Can he?’ -- he heard nothing from Wong, and can’t hold back the groan that escaped him.  _

_ “I can’t do anything if I don’t have a clear ‘yes’.” Stephen whispered, breath hot against Wong’s ear. “You don’t have to say ‘yes’.” _

_ All of the sudden, Wong turned to face him with an expression he’d never seen on the man before. The dim light from the fire only gave him a hint of what he’s looking at: Wong staring at him, body trembling with half-fear and half-need, mysterious in its desire. _

_ Stephen didn’t want him to be afraid. _

_ He could see the red on his cheeks as he spoke. “I want to know --...” Wong’s voice wasn’t soft anymore, it trembled out with a bit of a croak, like he forgot how to speak. It felt like he was hallucinating, like he was dreaming. As if Nightmare or Dormammu themselves have conjured him up to tempt him, a succumbi made of all the desires he’d kept deep down inside his gut just to come out here, in a shack in the middle of Tibet, with a monk (Was he a monk? A student? Stephen was never sure,) pressing a finger to his lips. “I want to know what it feels like.” _

_ His throat felt dry, his head dizzy, and all Stephen could say was: “I can show you.” _

_ Wong’s hips tilt up against his own, he has to move up in order to do so. The foot of difference in height between them seemed larger than ever -- he wondered if it was a good thing that he liked it. He felt something hot and hard press against his cock -- even in this daze, Stephen knew what it was, and almost groaned again.  _

_ “Please...” Wong whispered. The sorcerer wrapped his arms around his companion’s waist. He could feel how receptive his body was, how the muscles stretched and his back curved to look at him, eyes half-lidded and maybe Wong was just as far gone as he was.  _

_ His lips were parted, wet from Wong running his tongue over them nervously. Stephen raises a hand, the other still wrapped around the man’s smaller waist to keep him close, and ran a thumb over his plump bottom lip. It was a dark pinkish color, he could feel Wong’s ragged breath fall against his fingertip. So much for breathing exercises, the poor man was still shaking.  _

_ “Can I kiss you?” He asked. His companion was still looking straight at him as he nodded. The fireplace went out, almost on queue, as if it was afraid to interrupt.  _

_ Wong slowly tilted his head in the dark.  _

_ Stephen crashed his lips against his, and they desperately struggle to get Stephen out of his thermal underwear, the yak pelt is thrown beside them, the only heat they can find is from each other.  _

_ The man whimpered into his mouth, a sound he’d never heard him make before. He moved his mouth to nip and lick at Wong’s neck, where he smells the sweetest, as a plethora of sweet, small noises escaped him. Wong didn’t know how to kiss, no one ever done this to him before. Stephen growled against the curve of his neck as he realized Wong was rutting against him like an animal in heat, not knowing what to do.  _

_ He held him by his hips, keeping him still as his mouth dragged chaste kisses further down to his chest. He no longer had the control not to grab Wong’s ass just to feel it, he wanted to drag his cock against it. His tongue found a nipple and he dragged it against the hard, brown nub. Wong gasped out, like a button he just had to press. “Master...” _

_ Stephen shook his head even if Wong wasn’t looking at him. “Call me Stephen.” _

_ “Stephen,” He mumbled, as if testing the word. He says something else in language Stephen can’t quite place -- it sounded breathless, he assumed it was good. His skin is covered with a sheen of sweat that he couldn’t get enough of, Wong dragged his fingers over his chest pleadingly, trying to grab at the skin or at  _ **_something_ ** _ that can keep him steady. But that was what Stephen was there for, and he held him close and he left marks and dragged his lips all over the expanse of Wong’s chest. “Stephen!” _

_ Poor guy is close just from this. The only sin that Stephen can find here is the fact that no one’s ever done this to him before. He doubted he will be able to go far with him at this state. “Let me get on top of you.” He said, and hoped that Wong heard him between his whimpers. Either way, he moved him easily, settling Wong’s legs over his shoulders. It gave him a wonderful view of Wong’s, well, everything. The man looked utterly debauched, eyes wide open and on his cock.  _

_ “Not inside.” Wong mumbled. “D-Do not--” _

_ “I won’t.” Stephen assured him with a quick kiss. “I won’t, don’t worry.”  _

_ Whatever trust started to form on Wong’s face escaped the instant he rutted his cock against the other man’s, and he shut his eyes again and whined, face now delirious with pleasure. The difference was a bit ridiculous, it made Stephen feel especially well endowed, but Wong’s cock was weeping with pre-cum and making this much easier than Stephen anticipated. The slick warmth of Wong against him was driving him mad. _

_ “This feel good?” Stephen asked, barely able to form a sentence. His hips thrust slowly and sweetly against, cock dragging up and down Wong’s shaft. “You like this?” _

_ Wong whimpered again, a bead of sweat dripped from his temple and Stephen saw it fall to his chest, covered in soft, red marks that all said ‘mine-mine-mine’. “Stephen!” The man was so close, so fucking close, Stephen wanted him to feel every last bit of up. _

_ His thrusts became more erratic as he rested his hands on either side of Wong’s head, ignoring the ache because, christ, the guy was incredibly flexible and loud, and much as he probably didn’t want to be. Stephen had his eyes trained on his face, lips open and plump red from kisses -- he wonders what it would feel like to slip his cock inside and fuck his mouth.  _

_ “I want to do so much to you. Wanna teach you everything.” He groaned, resting his head on Wong’s knee. His hands lowered to Wong’s chest, toying and teasing his nipples. It was a miracle he hadn’t cum all over himself yet.  _

_ Wong looked up at him, face still hazy but unreadable. He bit his lip. Was he trying to be quiet? Stephen wanted him to scream.  _

_ He heard the man say something, but he didn’t understand it. Stephen moaned, “Fuck.” _

_ In less that a second, Wong shuddered, close to finishing, and drove his hands to Stephen’s shoulders. It took him a moment to realize that Wong was pushing him away and speaking again, panicked. “Stop. Stop!” _

_ Stephen did as told immediately, both of them gasping for air and regaining their breath. Wong sat up, still achingly hard and covered in sweat. Was it too much? It must’ve been too much and too far for a first time no matter how desperate he was.  _

_ When Wong finally looked at him, he looked surprised, as if he didn’t actually expect him to stop.  _

_ “Are you alright? Did I do something wrong?” _

_ Instead of a ‘yes’ or ‘no’, Wong bit his lower lip and said: “I need some tea.” _

_ Stephen blinked, not knowing how to answer, but Wong didn’t wait for one before he stumbled to the corner of the room and heats up a brew, methodically and practiced, body still trembling but it wasn’t from the cold. He settled for: “Hey, whatever does it for you.” _

_ Wong said nothing, and after a couple of minutes, he came back with two cups, hands shaking more than his own usually do. “Wong, are you--” _

_ “Have some.” He said, voiced slightly panicked. It felt like some sort of weird dream, the best part interrupted by a strange intermission, but the brew smelled heavenly. He took just one sip, and christ it’s good -- Stephen found himself downing the entire thing in one gulp.  _

_ He felt tired. Sleepy.  _

_ He tried to speak, but his mouth refused to cooperate. Felt like a spell, or a curse all of the sudden. His eyes were shut before he registered it. The last thing he heard was Wong’s voice, his breath against his ear, saying something soothing, voice cracking. _

_ “I am sorry. I can’t-- _

_ Everything turned into a blur, once again shivering in the dark.  _

 

_ \--- _

 

When Stephen returned, he couldn’t stop thinking about how much  _ fun  _ work could be sometimes. Maybe that was why he always preferred spending hours and hours engrossed in meditation, or magic, rather than dealing with... people. Being Sorcerer Supreme distracted him from the fact that he was supposed to have a life. 

Which was exactly why, after days of adventure and excitement, he found himself standing in front of the door of the Sanctum. Or rather, shuffling nervously in front of his own home. Back to domesticity. Back to Wong.

_ ‘Very much married’,  _ Billy had said. 

‘ _ I won’t tell you who your spouse is. Not the first one, or the last. Just know that you’re happy. And it is more than we both deserve.’  _ His future self told him. Sounded like Wong.

He was mostly distracted about the fact that his future self still wore a cape. And that... beard.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about this. Stephen looked at his ring finger, lost in thought. He wondered if they spoke about Wong. And if they mentioned that he isn’t his last spouse... then that can only mean one thing, and it’s the last thing Stephen care even bare considering. He couldn’t allow himself to think about losing the one last good thing he had.

After minutes of wallowing in his own self-pity, he heard the door in front of him open. It was Zelma. She could sense the disappointment in his face instantly, knowing she wasn’t the person he wanted to see. 

The young woman smirked. “He’s been waiting for you, even if he was trying to hide it. I’ve never seen him miss you that much.”

Stephen shrugged. “That feels like a good thing.”

“I think it is...” Zelma picked up her backpack, looking like a regular college student and not the apprentice of a sorcerer. For now. He knew the weird outfits, visions, and eyeliner came a bit later. There was  _ always  _ a phase. “I’m not going to butt in, ‘cause I don’t actually care --” (She did.) “--but I’m glad things are good between the two of you again.”

Stephen stepped into his home, accepting the fact that she was indeed butting in anyway. “What? Does he complain about me to you?”

“Not often.” She smirks again, all too confident and still filled with youthful hope. Vishanti, help her. He can’t lose another one. “Later, Doctor Strange.”

“Good bye, Zelma.”

She closed the door behind him with a loud thud. Not on purpose, the doors were too big and it made every retreat more dramatic than it needed to be.

In front of him stood Wong, holding a book in his hands, probably was doing research with Zelma with the few sources of information they had left. His face was unreadable -- even more than usual, Stephen had gotten pretty good at reading him -- not looking at him. 

His first instinct was that he had done something wrong, it was usually the right answer.

It wasn’t what he says first, he said nothing of Wong’s grave expression, and instead rested a hand on his arm and said: “You won’t believe who I met.”

Wong’s eyes darted up. “Who?”

“The Ancient One when he was seventeen, or around that age. He was exactly like he acted then, only less well-spoken and more of an edgy teenager. His real name is Yao.”

That made him laugh, at least, even if it was hollow. Wong rested the book against his chest. “He has always been mischievous. Teasing. It always threw travellers and new monks off because they never expected it.”

“I didn’t at all, but it was really charming when you saw him so... young.”

“Tell me about it.” Wong asked. It wasn’t rare for Stephen to recount this  _ ‘ _ adventures’, as Wong usually called them, but Wong usually didn’t ask for the tall tales of Doctor Strange, the master of the not-so-mystic-anymore arts. There was a hinted _ please  _ to his words.

Stephen nodded, then they headed to the kitchen in silence, as the sorcerer began to fill the tense air with his story, his words mixing with the smell of brewing green tea. Wong listened in silence, his eyes glued to the teapot. He omited any details pertaining to a  _ future spouse  _ or  _ marriage,  _ he knew it was the last thing Wong would want to hear right now, but he enjoyed the tales of other Sorcerer Supremes from other dimensions, and the fact that even  _ Mordo  _ had showed up to say goodbye to Yao. 

Wong served them their tea -- no sugar or honey, the man was very strict about how tea should be taken and Stephen couldn’t digest most of it anyway -- his face was still stoic. Sad was a better term for it. Stephen ran the tip of a trembling finger over the rim of his cup. He should ask what was wrong.

When he did, Wong said nothing, but his eyes fell on the book he’d been holding earlier.

“Wong,” He began, not knowing the words that would follow. “It’s your turn to talk now. I’m not good at deciphering these things, I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”

His husband stood in silence, long enough that Stephen wondered if he was actually going to speak again. He did, quietly. In an apology, one Stephen did not need. “There is no way to reverse the effects of Altean black magick.”

So this was what it was about, still trying to get him to eat something proper. Something human. “Wong, it’s--”

“It is not okay.” He was cut off before Stephen could even finish his train of thought. “It’s pathetic, I am supposed to take care of you yet can barely keep you alive and get you to eat something that isn’t poison.”

Stephen stood up and walked over to him, ignoring his tea and everything single atom in the multiverse that wasn’t Wong. It was the opposite than with Clea, maybe that what she would’ve wanted more than anything: to know that Stephen’s eyes were always on her at the end of the day, unfocused on everything else. It was probably what Wong wanted the least. How ironic.

“I brought it on myself. It was a decision  _ I  _ took that you distinctly disagreed with. You were terrified of it.” Stephen placed his hand back on the side of Wong’s arm. “Sorry about that.”

“You were bleeding black ooze from your eyes.” It isn’t a question or a realization. More like a imperative, forcing him to remember. “You were almost dead and I could do nothing.”

“You did everything you could.” 

Wong shook his head. He was furious, Stephen didn’t know where the rage was directed at -- in or out, pick a side. “No. I could have done so much more. I’m sorry I can not fix this.”

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stay in this endless cycle of apologies and pity between them, spiraling out of control. Stephen grabbed Wong by his shoulders, forcing him to look at him. Wong didn’t even flinch. 

“No, it’s all my fault, alright? I did this to myself because I’m selfish, too selfless and stubborn to see what the hell I had done to myself. To us. And now you’re blaming yourself because of it.” Stephen tried to calm himself. He wasn’t doing a great job. “There. I said it... I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through.”

It was funny, in a way, how as he tried so hard to get Wong at ease and cease this conversation entirely, he ended up making making himself shaken, trembling. It’s not from the realisation, maybe it was just by finally letting the words out. Maybe it was from the way Wong looked at him before holding him close, pulling him into a hug. The height is perfect enough for Stephen to rest his head on Wong’s shoulder as he realized how long it had been since he’d was hugged. 

Oh, he was crying. Stephen felt a hand wipe away a tear. He wasn’t used to that either, and the touch made him feel a bit weaker at the knees, a bit more pathetic. Was he really this touch starved? They had sex, often. 

(It wasn’t the same.)

“It’s okay,” Wong said, wrapping his arms around his back. Stephen did the same, holding him closer, and his husband had to stand on the tip of his toes to allow it. He didn’t think Wong believed in the words he said, neither of them did. “It’s going to be okay.”

His sobbing died down, eventually, and the weight of the world fell back on his shoulders and he pretended he was good man more. 

Wong’s hand moved to stroke his hands. Stephen sniffed, finally composed. As much as he could be. “I’m a mess.” 

“We are a mess.”

The sorcerer mustered up the energy to speak again, before he allowed the subject to be forgotten and tucked away, only to resurface sooner or later. “You don’t... hate me, right? You’re happy, right?”

“I’m not going to leave you, Stephen.” There was a pause before he spoke, and it wasn’t  _ no  _ or a  _ yes _ . It was left unspoken in a language Stephen did not understand.

(He thought of Clea begging for his touch. Not in bed, but in the hallways of the Sanctum, in the study and the foyer, trying to get him to look at her for at least a second. He would kiss her, and it felt holy, but then all the meaning was lost, until all that was left was the kiss. Because he allowed it to -- because he allowed himself to forget what love could be.

When Wong pulled away from the hug and tilted his head, Stephen remembered felt a chill in his body, as if he’s transported back to the shack in the mountain and the winter winds are forcing them together. Wong tilted his head, begging for a kiss, and Stephen had to pray that it still felt like their first. It did. It does. 

He can live through the heartache.)

The hands stroking his own stopped. Wong’s eyes moved downwards and must have noticed that he wasn’t wearing his ring, it was safely hidden at his bedside table (the one that wasn’t filled with old, trapped souls). Wong was wearing his, he hadn’t taken it off since the ceremony. 

He thought for a second that Wong would scold him for not wearing it, or leave in silent disappointment. Instead, the man brought his trembling hand to his face and kissed the knuckle under his ring finger, smiling again fondly. 

Stephen didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve any of this. The domesticity felt like a punch to the gut, he wasn’t used to it at all. Not since her, not since he thought he’d lost it for good and all this time it had been staring at him right in the face. Stephen looked down in shaken awe, or fear, his hands trembling more than usual. 

Wong raised an eyebrow at the sight. Gods, he sounded so worried. “Stephen, are you alright?”

“I love you.”

Time stilled, Stephen sweared by it, even if he could practically hear his heart beating madly. Wong’s eyes widened as he let go of his hands and covered his mouth with his own. “Stephen--”

He should say something meaningful, something important. He hasn’t said those three words since... he can’t even remember when. Had Wong ever heard them? Since Imei

He felt self conscious all of the sudden, embarrassed. He knew that Wong was the only person who had seen tenderness from him as of late -- imagine, the once great Sorcerer Supreme, always scared of saying  _ I love you _ .

“Just... thought I should say it. Should’ve said it earlier.” 

Wong smiled and said it back, voice soft and steady, still beautiful. They kiss again, tea now cold and their home still empty and hidden away from the world. It’s still just the two of them, despite it all.

When they part, Wong laughed, like all the problems they had a few seconds ago were forgotten. They weren’t, they’ll deal with them later, but they could pretend for just a second and allow themselves to enjoy this. “No, because this time you meant it.”

“I did.” His hands still tremble, but they rest on Wong’s heart, feeling overly sentimental. It’s not something he’d felt in a long time, he cherished it for what it was worth. “I do.”

No more words are exchanged, they’ll be stuck on the same loop if they continue: Love. Realization. Confession. Regret. Anger. Apology. Heartache. Fifty years, and they spoke in mostly whispers, with words they weren’t used to saying out loud. They gave each other their heart, and now they’re just wolves in a pack circling each other endlessly, waiting who would be the first to devour them. 

And wasn’t that heartbreaking? That they still managed to pretend that part of them wasn’t miserable? That part of them never thought this would actually happen -- that they’re grabbing what they can and storing it in case the world decided to burn around them, ready for anything? 

Like The Lovers laid to the side, not upright or reversed, but willing to change move at any moment. You love him, Stephen, but nothing lasts forever.

Wong pulled away completely, no longer touching him, and went to make more tea.

They never get used to it.


End file.
